


The greatest love story of all time, or how the world burned.

by DinosaurEyes



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Backstory, Character Study, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-07
Updated: 2012-10-07
Packaged: 2017-11-15 19:55:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/531107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DinosaurEyes/pseuds/DinosaurEyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s the 1st century, then the 7th, then the 16th and 17th, then the 19th, and Aziraphale’s wings are bloody and burnt and dark. </p><p>It’s the 3rd and 5th and 20th century, and Crowley laughs at him behind smoked glasses. </p><p>It’s the end and the beginning and the middle and its ineffable, and the Angel and the Demon sit side by side and laugh as the world burns.</p><p>The story of how Adam and Eve fell, how Crowley and Aziraphale fell in love, and the very long answer to a question asked by children.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The greatest love story of all time, or how the world burned.

Eve burns, brighter than anything Aziraphale has ever seen. 

That’s the thing he mourns, out of all the rest. That when they painted her, they didn’t show her brilliance. They color her white and pale, blond listless hair, pained expression as she is cast out. 

Nobody remembers that she wasn’t. 

It was a quick bite, a silent slip, before the dull cow eyes left her face and for a second he couldn’t breathe, because where before there had been a pretty candle, now there was an inferno. 

They say that the world remembers. 

 

Crowley remembers the slide of cool hands across his skin, the bright mad grin of life. He remembers wondering for the first time – but he doesn’t remember what he wondered. 

Eve strides forth into her garden, her kingdom realized at last. She slips between the animals, names them, call them to her. In the morning light, the red of her hair makes it look as though she is on fire. 

Crowley remembers following, slightly dazed by the brilliance of this new creature. The apple still gripped in her hand, Eve strides past the gates of paradise. 

 

Aziraphale gives the flaming sword to the man who stumbles after Eve, panting and red faced with the hopelessness he knows will face him in the new world. 

Years later, he will take a delicate sip of tea and stammer ‘ w-well, I couldn’t just let them freeze to death. Her being with child and all’

He won’t mention the flash of anger through Adams eyes as he gripped the sword, the sudden howl of pain and vengeance and rage. He won’t mention the fear that races through his body as God’s finest creation holds the weapon in one hand and a bloody head in the other. 

He won’t mention the brief feeling of exhilaration, of excitement, of not knowing what was going to happen next. 

Years later, he will mention the brief feeling of uncertainty he had felt, sipping the tea and staring into shaded eyes. 

 

Crowley stands triumphant on a pile of bodies. The air around him buzzes with the stench of blood and the scream of death. The bodies under him lay torn asunder, red flesh already being feasted on by flies. 

One long forked tongue slips up to lick one eye. Still and silent, he crouches upon his makeshift throne as the god of war that he is. 

A small child races by him, and as he watches a man in golden armor races by and plunges a sword into the boys belly. 

Arthur shakes his sweat drenched hair out of his eyes and grins like a wolf, blood running in rivulets down his face. The child lets out a small moan and twists, face contorting into a grotesque mess of horns and tusks and tears. 

Arthur turns, and the demons body slides slowly off of Excalibur. 

“We will win” He pants, and Crowley smiles. 

 

The Queen runs through the stables, hair burning like fire behind her. Aziraphale smiles absently and pets the nose of one of the horses that stands behind patiently. 

The sister follows behind, dark and angry and sad and sallow from years of neglect. Aziraphale can see the fire burning behind her eyes. 

There’s a small sound behind him, but he doesn’t turn around. 

“Don’t you think it a bit unfair for one of them to be sentenced to glory and the other to pain”

Aziraphale smiles absently, and the acrid smoke of flesh fills his nostrils “Ineffability, I suppose”

Crowley scoffs, and the two remain silent as they watch the two sisters play tag. 

“Bless” Aziraphale murmurs, and the horse whinny’s. 

 

It’s 1582, and Nahuatl sits crouched behind the bronze statue of his god. Below him, the courtyard rings out with screams and loud unnatural bangs. 

Theres a brief flash of white light, and he peers around the statue in hope. 

A small man dressed in black robes stands quietly in the centre of the temple. He carries a cross and a small leather bound book. When he looks up at Nahuatl, his eyes are yellow like a snakes. 

Theres another boom and Nahuatl falls to the ground.

 

Aziraphale sees Eve one more time. She stands swollen with child in front of a massive exhibition of Japanese pottery. He stands still as Adam approaches, bearing two steaming cups of liquid. They confer with each other quietly, heads bent toward each other. 

Aziraphale fiddles with his cravat and considers whether or not to approach them. 

Adam and Eve turn towards him and smile in unison. For a moment, Adams uniform drips red blood and Eve thunders through a palace on a black horse. Aziraphale blinks, and Adam is dressed in the Queens cloth, and Eve stands demure in her gown. Adam gives the angel a quick nod and Eve mouths a word to him before they both hurry out.

Crowley returns and hands Aziraphale his requested glass of punch. 

“Was that?” He asks. Aziraphale nods quickly and looks down at the invitation in his hands. Crowley reads it over his shoulder and whistles with admiration. 

Exhibition possible thanks to the efforts of Adam and Eve Apple. 

Aziraphale looks back on the bowls, and it’s all too easy to imagine them filled with blood. 

 

It’s the fourteenth century, and Crowley is bored out of his mind. 

It’s the fourteenth century, and Crowley fashions himself a woman’s body and calls himself The Lady and laughs like a caged tiger. 

It’s the twentieth century, and Aziraphale is asking where he was. 

He shrugs and says ‘Asleep’. It’s not a lie. After all, he certainly spent most of it in bed. 

 

They are in India and watching Gandhi inspire masses of faceless people. 

“It’s a shame” Crowley mutters, interested despite himself. Beside him, Aziraphale nods and sighs. 

“Ineffable, I suppose”

On the other side of the crowd, Hastur pulls out a gun. 

 

The Apocalypse is over and Crowley wants to laugh and dance and shout because they are both alive and they are feeding the ducks. 

Aziraphale sits beside him and Crowley has never wanted to kiss him this bad in his entire life. 

So he does. 

And it burns, of course it does, but Aziraphale reciprocates, and a man in a coat and a hat smiles at them. 

 

It’s the 1st century, then the 7th, then the 16th and 17th, then the 19th, and Aziraphale’s wings are bloody and burnt and dark. 

It’s the 3rd and 5th and 20th century, and Crowley laughs at him behind smoked glasses. 

It’s the end and the beginning and the middle and its ineffable, and the Angel and the Demon sit side by side and laugh as the world burns. 

For now though, Aziraphale dresses like a librarian, and Crowley drives too fast and when asked, both of them will sigh and say ‘I couldn’t just leave them, could I? After all, what with her being with child and all, they could have used the help”

And the Antichrist smiles at them, and War flicks back her shining hair while Pollution and Famine squabble over comic books. 

In the beginning though, Eve burned. 

(Don’t we all?)


End file.
